Invisible Murder by Lene Kaaberbøl Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lene Kaaberbøl
wide strips of metallic duct tape.
“Yes!” Gitte hissed softly, and Søren didn’t begrudge her the small triumphant outburst. She had been right. She was the one who had gotten their captured activist to reveal his knowledge of the local area—surprisingly extensive knowledge, considering the man was a foreigner. She and Mikael had spotted the refrigeration truck and discovered that its registered owner had never heard of it. She had been in counterterrorism for only four months, and her self-confidence would undoubtedly benefit from a victory like this one.
“Contact on-site command,” Søren told Mikael. “Tell him we have visual confirmation and that they have explosives on the hostage. We need to stop traffic on Rovsingsgade before we go in.”
There were other more shadowy forms moving inside the Scania truck’s cargo hold. Four of them, it looked like. Two were holding a video camera and debating quietly in English why it wasn’t working.
“It’s the batteries.” The speaker was a woman, but the balaclavas and the shapeless bulletproof vests made it hard to discern much else.
“I just recharged them!” protested another, a youngish man by the sound of it.
“I can’t believe that Berndt got us visuals,” Gitte said. “I thought we’d be lucky to have sound. How did he do it?”
“The ventilation system,” Mikael Nielsen said absentmindedly, jabbing at his fancy new digital radio with an irritated thumb. “Come on!”
Finally he got a connection. He spoke quietly and moved over to the farthest end of the van so as to disrupt the surveillance as little as possible, and Søren refocused his attention once more on events in the refrigeration truck.
Two of the four kidnappers were holding automatic rifles; it was hard to see exactly what make, but there was something about the outline that reminded Søren of the Danish army’s old Heckler & Kochs. Presumably the two with the video camera at least had handguns, even though he couldn’t see them. But the explosives were by far the most critical factor in this situation.
All things considered, the hostage was remarkably calm. He was sitting quietly in the chair, watching his executioners with impassive equanimity. The spotlight bounced off his clean-shaven head and created sharp shadows below his chin and in the hollows beneath his collarbones. The mild shivers that made his naked shoulders tremble every few seconds seemed to be only a reaction to the cold.
Suddenly Søren felt Mikael’s hand on his shoulder.
“It’s not working,” he said. “I can’t get through to command. This crappy new system keeps transferring me to 911 instead.”
Shit. Søren didn’t say it out loud, that would only make the situation worse. He also suppressed the urge to snatch Mikael’s radio in order to see if it made any difference that an inspector pushed the buttons. Sometimes you could get people to do what you wanted by pulling rank; technology couldn’t care less.
“See if you can get him on his mobile,” he said. “But be careful what you say. We aren’t the only ones who can eavesdrop on the mobile network.”
Mikael nodded, chewing the nicotine gum that kept him smoke-free in tense situations so vigorously that the muscles in his intimidating jaw bulged under his skin. “I’ll try.”
But a few seconds later he swore again. “He has turned it off.”
That was per regulation, actually. Søren’s own mobile was also off so it wouldn’t jeopardize the operation.
“Okay,” he said. “Input?”
“The clock is ticking,” Mikael said. “At some point they’ll notice that Blue 1 is missing or that Blue 4 is failing to check in.” Blue 1 was the code name for the activist they had captured and interrogated; Blue 4 the guard that Berndt’s unit had taken out.
“Can we still get in touch with our own lot?” Søren said.
“Yes. It’s just the rest of the emergency services that have fallen off the map.”
“Brave new digital
“Yes!” Gitte hissed softly, and Søren didn’t begrudge her the small triumphant outburst. She had been right. She was the one who had gotten their captured activist to reveal his knowledge of the local area—surprisingly extensive knowledge, considering the man was a foreigner. She and Mikael had spotted the refrigeration truck and discovered that its registered owner had never heard of it. She had been in counterterrorism for only four months, and her self-confidence would undoubtedly benefit from a victory like this one.
“Contact on-site command,” Søren told Mikael. “Tell him we have visual confirmation and that they have explosives on the hostage. We need to stop traffic on Rovsingsgade before we go in.”
There were other more shadowy forms moving inside the Scania truck’s cargo hold. Four of them, it looked like. Two were holding a video camera and debating quietly in English why it wasn’t working.
“It’s the batteries.” The speaker was a woman, but the balaclavas and the shapeless bulletproof vests made it hard to discern much else.
“I just recharged them!” protested another, a youngish man by the sound of it.
“I can’t believe that Berndt got us visuals,” Gitte said. “I thought we’d be lucky to have sound. How did he do it?”
“The ventilation system,” Mikael Nielsen said absentmindedly, jabbing at his fancy new digital radio with an irritated thumb. “Come on!”
Finally he got a connection. He spoke quietly and moved over to the farthest end of the van so as to disrupt the surveillance as little as possible, and Søren refocused his attention once more on events in the refrigeration truck.
Two of the four kidnappers were holding automatic rifles; it was hard to see exactly what make, but there was something about the outline that reminded Søren of the Danish army’s old Heckler & Kochs. Presumably the two with the video camera at least had handguns, even though he couldn’t see them. But the explosives were by far the most critical factor in this situation.
All things considered, the hostage was remarkably calm. He was sitting quietly in the chair, watching his executioners with impassive equanimity. The spotlight bounced off his clean-shaven head and created sharp shadows below his chin and in the hollows beneath his collarbones. The mild shivers that made his naked shoulders tremble every few seconds seemed to be only a reaction to the cold.
Suddenly Søren felt Mikael’s hand on his shoulder.
“It’s not working,” he said. “I can’t get through to command. This crappy new system keeps transferring me to 911 instead.”
Shit. Søren didn’t say it out loud, that would only make the situation worse. He also suppressed the urge to snatch Mikael’s radio in order to see if it made any difference that an inspector pushed the buttons. Sometimes you could get people to do what you wanted by pulling rank; technology couldn’t care less.
“See if you can get him on his mobile,” he said. “But be careful what you say. We aren’t the only ones who can eavesdrop on the mobile network.”
Mikael nodded, chewing the nicotine gum that kept him smoke-free in tense situations so vigorously that the muscles in his intimidating jaw bulged under his skin. “I’ll try.”
But a few seconds later he swore again. “He has turned it off.”
That was per regulation, actually. Søren’s own mobile was also off so it wouldn’t jeopardize the operation.
“Okay,” he said. “Input?”
“The clock is ticking,” Mikael said. “At some point they’ll notice that Blue 1 is missing or that Blue 4 is failing to check in.” Blue 1 was the code name for the activist they had captured and interrogated; Blue 4 the guard that Berndt’s unit had taken out.
“Can we still get in touch with our own lot?” Søren said.
“Yes. It’s just the rest of the emergency services that have fallen off the map.”
“Brave new digital